


Beekeeper

by Quitebrilliantindeed



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Nibelheim (Compilation of FFVII), Rough Sex, Sephiroth Off the String, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23830153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quitebrilliantindeed/pseuds/Quitebrilliantindeed
Summary: Believe me, this loneliness won't go awayHear me, oh woman that has gone astray
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 9
Kudos: 78





	Beekeeper

Cloud hadn’t hit his head when he Sephiroth knocked him over, but his ears roar all the same. Is it too many thoughts that fill his head? Or simply one, too loud and frantic to make sense? His body is shaking as he pulls himself to his feet, a terrible dread filling his every inch. He doesn’t even think to put his helmet back on—he only tucks it under his arm, and _runs_.

He stumbles from the library, the lab, past the strange rooms outside, and up the staircase, the rickety old spiral that scares him senseless every time. Even now, he winces with each and every creak—but this horrid surge of determination keeps his feet moving nonetheless.

Sephiroth. Sephiroth. Sephiroth. His eyes are welling with tears. At first, he doesn’t stop to think twice about it— his heart burns with fear and uncertainty, with a terror he can’t quite place. But the closer he gets, the more his eyes _sting_. There’s an acrid taste in the air—not quite like mako or volcano—but like firewood, mixed with something foul.

On instinct, he rushes to the window from the final set of stairs, throwing back the curtains with shaking hands, nearly falling all over himself in the process.

At first, he sees nothing—then an orange glimmer, flashing in the corner of his eye. He turns his head and sees two things among the houses and the trees: Sephiroth, and a flickering swell of glowing flames. Cloud falls back from the window and _folds_ , an awful dry heave forcing his way through his body.

His mom. His momma. _Tifa_.

Now, panic alone forces him forward. He half runs and half stumbles the rest of the way though the mansion, as if in a daze. He throws his whole body into the front door, nearly falling to the ground as it opens. Sephiroth hadn’t moved—a brief wave of relief washes over Cloud, only to be swiftly usurped by the reality of what’s in front of him.

“Sephiroth!” Cloud screams. He can’t think of anything else to say. “Sephiroth!”

Sephiroth turns his head, ever so slightly. His sword is drawn, its proud length displayed among the flames, suddenly something to fear rather than marvel. His hair is unruly and disheveled, his movements strained and bizarre. For a moment, Cloud wonders if it really is him.

“Sephiroth…” His voice is meeker this time, hoarse from his cries. “Sephiroth, please stop…”

Sephiroth begins to walk.

Cloud begins to run.

A small cry falls from Cloud’s lips. His legs feel clumsy and thick—he’s hardly moving faster than Sephiroth’s almost _leisurely_ pace. Is that the difference in their strength? He closes the distance between them, and tries again:

“What does this—why are you—!?” It comes out a complete mess. Cloud flinches, but persists, reaching for the back of his arm. Sephiroth sidesteps him with frightening ease, quietly watching as he tumbles to the ground. Cloud hisses and winces from the impact, hardly feeling Sephiroth’s eyes on him as he wobbles back to his feet.

“Why are you doing this!?” The tears are starting to fall. “I don’t understand—please—can we just—” He takes a deep breath and tries to say something—anything—coherent.

“We wanted to help you!” Cloud screams, voice cracking, all too desperate.

Sephiroth stops. He makes a small noise, not quite a laugh, nor an exhale—a simple sound of dismissal.

The house behind him bursts into flames.

And then another.

And another.

The sound alone is maddening to Cloud. He falls to his knees and screams, covering his ears as waves of heart wash over his body and all around him. He hears crackling wood and leaves, rushing flames, even screams— he forces himself to look up, if only to protect himself from whatever might come next, and desperately scans the area. He can’t remember any of his damn training—he never was any good at any of it, never could get it to stick—

His eyes land on Sephiroth. There’s another person in front of him. He hopes it’s Zack. Maybe if he squeezes his eyes shut and wishes for it—maybe it will be. Maybe Zack will rescue him and everyone and _just make this all go away._

He opens his eyes. The man is not Zack. It’s someone he doesn’t know, some old familiar face, someone he might have once seen as a child. His heart sinks.

Sephiroth spears the man before he can even speak.

Cloud screams.

He bolts forward, lunging towards Sephiroth’s slowly shrinking back, and tries one more time.

“ _Sephiroth_!”

His voice tears from his lungs as claws rend flesh. It’s an ugly sound, a child’s wail far more than it is a boy’s plea—and Sephiroth, at last, is still.

Cloud freezes under the quiet, breath catching in the hollows of his chest. He can’t even stop to feel ashamed of such an outburst— all he can feel is a deep, unbearable pain, and a fear so hot and raw that it paralyzes every last fibre of his being.

All at once, Sephiroth snaps.

As if fed up with a bug, he twists, striking Cloud across the face. It’s enough to send him flying—he lands on the gravel with a hard thud, his entire body screaming with pain. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so afraid in his life—everyone is dead. He didn’t even know that man, and he’s dead. He doesn’t want to be dead. He doesn’t want to hurt. He doesn’t want to die. He wants this all to stop. He wants Zack. He wants his momma. His mama—he’s gotta find his momma—

A pained squeal shoots from his mouth as Sephiroth grabs his hair, forcing him upright.

“Is this what you want?”

“Wh-what?” Cloud forces his eyes open. Tears already spill down his cheeks and blur his vision—he doesn’t understand what Sephiroth means—of course this isn’t what he wants—who would—who could--?

Sephiroth leans down, jerking his head higher. Cloud flinches, the air knocked from his lungs once again. They’re nearly face to face now, predator and prey—instinctively, Cloud screws his eyes shut and retracts.

But Sephiroth doesn’t hold him for long—nor does he strike him again. He simply lets him drop—Cloud barely catches himself before Sephiroth’s boot connects with his shoulder, easily shoving his back to the ground.

There’s a familiarity to it all—a practiced kind of déjà vu. A terrible inkling grows at the back of Cloud’s mind, among the acrid scent of burning buildings and bodies. He hazards a glance—a careful, tepid thing—and is met with some horrible gaze, unblinking, unsettlingly quiet in its predation. Just like that, the last traces of his Sephiroth slip through his fingers.

Then and there, Cloud knows it’s hopeless—if he’d stopped to think like any normal person, maybe he would’ve realized that sooner. He can’t fight Sephiroth. He’s not SOLDIER. Why didn’t he just call Zack, or someone—anyone—

Sephiroth perches neatly over his body, straddling Cloud as he cups his face. He presses his thumb against the tender skin where the slap connected—and it’s—it’s nearly gentle. Soft as it is empty, distant, even purposefully cruel. Sephiroth shifts, and his chin is now held and directed, face examined, as if he were stock.

“How does it feel…” Sephiroth finally speaks. He whispers his words in that same cold tone he’d used in the library, the one so alien, so unfamiliar. “How does it feel to be _home_?” When Cloud only whimpers, he exhales, and drops his chin.

“Cloud…” His fingers reach for a single blonde spike, dangling between Cloud’s eyes. “…why won’t you answer me?”

Cloud’s breaths quicken. He can’t form an answer, only stuttered words born from swirls of horror and stimulus. “You….you…how could you…” He’s still crying. He doesn’t know how his body can keep shedding tears—he feels as if his whole body is drying out and burning alongside the town.

A strange expression passes over Sephiroth’s face—his eyes widen, his lips curl and nostrils flare— he reminds Cloud of a wounded animal. Like a bear with broken teeth, a dragon with its claws ripped out. Pain twists into aggression, winces into snarls— he knows what happens next. Cloud closes his eyes.

One hand presses flat to his shoulder, pinning him to the ground, the other catches on the zipper of his fatigues forcing it open. His cry is lost to Sephiroth’s mouth in a rough, painful kiss that steals his breath and splits open his lip. Dimly, he can feel hands run down his chest and torso, then a tug as Sephiroth lifts his shirt, a tear as he pulls it from his body.

The kiss is unceremoniously broken, an involuntary whine spilling from Cloud as Sephiroth draws downwards, admiring his work with unnerving disaffection. Cloud squirms when his fingers trace his hips, and is met with another slap. If he ever meant to silence him, it backfired—Cloud screams out, writhing blindly under Sephiroth’s weight until his shoulders are roughly pinned back to the ground, his touches replaced by languid sucks and bites.

Soon the hands move past his hips, tug down his pants and force off his boots. The air itself seems to sear his bare skin, stray embers prickling his knees, his shaking thighs. It matters little that he’s no longer pinned—between Sephiroth’s strength, and his own meager size it would be hopeless, even were he uninjured, unattached, and unafraid. He’s no such thing—his mind simply screams under the weight of it all, confusion and terror and a hurt so deep he can scarcely believe it’s real.

Sephiroth stands, forcing him to follow with a yank of his hair that pulls him into a halfhearted slump. For a moment, there is nothing—no touches, no kisses, no violence. Then fingers clutch the back of his head, and force a cock to his lips. Cloud whines softly, and looks up, pleading with his eyes, uselessly hoping for a trace of the Sephiroth he knew—and finds nothing. Sephiroth’s grip tightens, and Cloud relents—he swallows hard, and carefully takes the head of his cock into his mouth. When he fails to make any further move, Sephiroth pushes, forcing himself up and down Cloud’s throat.

He feels sick. He’s done this before, hasn’t he? It hurts. It’s too big, too deep, it makes him choke and gag. It’s all he can do to stay breathing, panic escalating with each sharp bob of his head. He feels his chest tighten when it occurs to him that Sephiroth surely doesn’t care.

Weakly, he raises a hand to grasp at Sephiroth leg—anything to lessen the impact, or even just to brace himself. Sephiroth hisses as if burned by his touch, abruptly pulling out, sending Cloud tumbling forward. Confusion seizes Cloud, only to be disrupted by his own retching. He’s barely finished when Sephiroth regains whatever focus he lost, and kicks him back to the ground.

He wastes no more time— Cloud can hardly try to squirm away before his legs are parted and forced to his chest. He cries out, arms flailing out on reflex, futilely trying to push his assailant away. Sephiroth ignores him with all the same coldness as before, reaching between his legs, little more than spit on his gloved fingers.

It hurts even more terribly than his bruised throat—Cloud tries to scream, but his voice is hoarse and used up. He can’t stop crying, and the prickle of arousal growing in his abdomen brought no more comfort.

_Just let it be over._

The second finger adds a full sense of discomfort, then splitting pain when he parts them, scissoring him open until he tears and bleeds.

_It’s not going to be over yet. It’s going to get worse._

Sephiroth pulls out, and Cloud stifles a hollow moan. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so afraid, so full and so empty. Were this a bad dream, he’d squeeze his eyes shut and reset. Then, he’d be strong enough to fight. Strong enough to do _anything_. Or maybe he could find a better dream, one where Sephiroth would hold him close, whisper loving words, hurt him only how he asked. Whatever struggle he was facing—they’d face it together, and everything would be okay.

There is nothing gentle left in Sephiroth. He forces himself inside with little fanfare, no more than an irritated grunt when he meets resistance.

Cloud shrieks—his throat burns and scratches until the pain subsides enough for him to weep. His body, his spirit—all of him lies in shambles, brutalized. Cloud’s head falls to the side, eyelids heavy with sick delirium. Any will, any flicker of defense he may have clung to evaporates under such violation. No longer can he find the strength to even squirm—only endure.

Sephiroth begins to move. It’s all happening too fast—the discomfort gives way to more pain, pain to discomfort. His thrusts rhythmically push Cloud’s cheek into the dirt, distantly stinging his skin. The hard grip on his legs worsens to the point of bruising, all the worse against the ache of his body being so callously folded. Cloud hardly knows his own arousal-- he’s nearly thankful for the raw fear wracking his bones, if only to keep his own body from betraying him so easily. Was it not enough to lose Sephiroth? Was that not enough? Was _this_ not enough?

Sephiroth leans into him, forcing their faces closer together. There is little Cloud can do, save for squeeze his eyes shut and ignore the silvery strands that drip down onto his face and neck. Sephiroth grunts, shifting violently inside of Cloud, caressing his bruised cheek with the back of his fingers. When Cloud cries out, his fingers drop to his neck. There is little pressure in the touch—just enough to threaten, not enough to choke. Cloud very nearly wishes he would—he desperately doesn’t want to die, but his head is swimming, his body is screeching. He screws his eyes shut and prays that his resolve fails him, that he can sleep away the rest of the assault and not wake until it’s all over.

He gets his wish. It’s nothing so dramatic—his body simply gives out. It’s horrid. It’s nothing like falling asleep, where you can’t remember the fleeting moment or the feeling of it happening. It’s precise—everything, and then nothing—blackness.

He remembers an unbearable pace, searing pain—another kiss, every bit as bruising as before.

Then nothing.

When he finally wakes, the smell of fire and ash is stronger. He wonders if he’s dead, and this is some hellish place for cowards like him, the last stop before the Reactor burns away his soul.

He opens his eyes. He is not dead. Every inch of his body screams in pain—his eyes dart down to his open shirt and bare hips and nearly wretches at the sight. Bruises litter his body, dried tears crack around his eyes—he gags when he shifts, feeling something drip from inside of him. When his shaking fingers reach down his thighs and come back with blood and seed, he chokes out a sob, and collapses back into the ground.

…If there’s still a chance, then he needs to do something.

He needs to find Zack. Zack can do something.

Tears sting at his eyes. He wants his momma. He just wants his momma.

His eyes glance at his discarded pants and boots. In a moment, he will take them. His fingers will shake, his eyes will sting—but he’ll contact Zack, and he’ll beg him. He’ll run to his house and scream for his mom and find nothing.

But for now, he simply cries.

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no post! I'm still writing fanfic on the regular, but I've been keeping it close to my chest these days. No bad reason, just a personal preference....
> 
> But considering the current state of things online, I wanted to share something to let y'all know it's perfectly normal and cool to write about what you want and jerk it to what you want!
> 
> <3


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